"He was sent hither," replied the bishop, "by Attila, that great and mighty king, whose words are as true as his arm is powerful. He promised me long ago to protect and defend you; and this slave, it seems, betrayed your purposed journey into the mountains to the ear of Bleda, your enemy. Therefore is it that Attila sends him hither, to receive what punishment I will. I doom no man to death; but I was about to sentence him to solitude and chains, in the tower by the water side."
"God has spared you a great crime," replied Theodore. "This man betrayed me not. Far from it. He aided to save my life, when, ere another evening sun had set, my fate would have been sealed. Twice has he contributed to deliver me from danger. Oh! set him free, my uncle. Take off that chain! it is not fitting for him. His mind is noble and generous, though his body is as thou seest. But what have we to do with that? God, wise and mysterious, has made him as he is; let us not trample on God's handiwork."
The negro sprang forward, dragging his chain after him; and casting himself at the feet of the young Roman, he dewed his hand with tears. "It is not," he cried, "it is not that you come to save me, but it is that you speak as if I were your fellow-man."
"Far be it from me, my son," said the bishop, "to treat any one possessed of our common nature otherwise than a Christian should do. We are all worms in the eyes of God, the greatest, the proudest, the most beautiful, as well as the lowly and the distorted. Take the chain from him, and let him go free. Now, tell me truly, man, I adjure thee, by whatever thou holdest sacred, tell me, was it thou who bore to Bleda the tidings of this youth's journey, and if so--"
"There is no if!" interrupted the negro, with solemn vehemence: "I opened not my lips. Was I not the first to warn him that Bleda hated him? Did I not convey to the ears of Attila himself timely notice of his brother's purpose, when Bleda whetted the sword against him between Viminacium and Cuppæ? Did I not hear Bleda vow, that, till age palsied his arm, or death closed his eyes, he would pursue that youth with vengeance, and seek the destruction of that bold Arab who dared to struggle with and overthrow him? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet betray to the tiger thirsting for blood the track of the deer that he sought to overtake? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet tell to Bleda that he who had shown me pity and sympathy, came, as it were, to offer his throat to the knife within eight hours of that fierce man's dwelling-place? Oh no! I opened not my lips. There were whole tribes of Bleda's people round when the boy Ernac told me that the Roman was about to depart from the land. They bore the tidings to the king; and he gained from Ellac, the eldest son, the course of his whole journey, and the number of people whom they supposed would follow him. The number proved ten times more than they expected, and Bleda had too few with him to attack them all. He took vengeance on the Arab, however: and the Roman youth, after Bleda's departure, fell into a trap baited with his freedman's blood. I betrayed him not, but I aided to save him, and he knows it."
"I do," answered Theodore; "had it not been for thee, and for one whom I will not name, I had ended my life long ere now. But say, how am I to return to the dwelling of Attila when the tribes of Bleda lie across my way?"
"Did not those who told thee to come hither tell thee more?" demanded the negro.
"They told me nothing," answered Theodore, "but that it was the will of Attila I should pass by Margus as I returned. Of Bleda they said nothing."
"Bleda, oh Roman," replied the negro, "the powerful, the revengeful, the unforgiving, is like a dry stramonium bush in the desert, whose bitterness is parched up and gone, whose very thorns are withered and powerless. His name, his mighty name, is like the whisper of the wind among the rocks, speaking of tempests that we feel no more, of blasts from which we are sheltered! Bleda is dead, oh Roman; his arm is in the dust."
"Dead!" said Theodore, a presentiment of the dark truth coming over him, even before it was spoken; "dead! How did he die?"